A Blacken Heart No More
by Missreadingfool
Summary: This is a one-shot story for the "Death of Elena" Challenge from VIp on the FSOG FB page. I hope you all like it.


A Blacken Heart No More

**A/N: This story is loosely based on Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart. Yes, it will be dark and disturbing. **

No money, no friends, no business but worse of all…no Christian Grey. Elena Lincoln stared at her reflection and saw that growing old was the cruelest joke played on a human being. She bleached her usually golden blonde hair platinum to hide the telltale grey that exposed that she was no longer a spring chicken. She touched her face and frowned when she felt that her skin was no longer soft and subtle. She could see wrinkles winning the plastic surgery war that she fought for the last fifteen years.

Nothing in her life went as she planned. She worked so hard to train her little pet for her specific tastes and the ungrateful bastard turned his back on her and for what? For a mousy little gold-digging bitch that had no class, no status in society, and clearly was not what her pet needed. But, it was now over. Christian was married and they had a baby on the way. He didn't want a thing to do with her and he made that very clear one autumn night when she found him walking around lost. She thought she finally had him back when he didn't argue with her about having a drink together. They shared a bottle of wine and she wisely did not insult his little wife. It felt so good to sit with him and just gaze upon his male beauty and reminisce about their sexual activities. She had to smile. She did teach him well. The boy had been handsome, but the man that Christian became was even more sexually charged and gorgeous. She missed him so much. She just wanted one more night with him, one more scene as his sub if that was what it was going to take to have his massive cock inside her. She trembled with sadness when she remembered how he avoided her touch and moved away from her when she started to make her play for him. She finally understood that Christian Grey no longer needed or wanted her. This man was in love with his wife.

That night was the end of the life that she had grown accustomed. The social invitations dried up, her business fell off, and she was asked to leave many different charity boards that she sat on. She knew it was the Grace Curse. Who knew that the good Doctor was so vindictive?

Within a few months, she lost all the salons, her home, and even her car. She lived in an apartment building that her ex-husband owned and was generous enough to let her live in one of the empty apartments. Of course, the rent wasn't free…she had to fuck him at least twice a week. It wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes and pretended he was anyone but who he was. At least she had a place to sleep.

Her dark eyes looked around the room. What a different life she lived now! She lived in an apartment that would actually sit inside the living room of her former home and she worked as a shampoo girl at a less than glamorous salon. The mighty did fall! She drank more but it wasn't the good stuff unless Linc brought it. She swilled down cheap bourbon from a convenience store. Her gaze went back to the mirror. She shook her head. So sad to see such beauty fade away. With a deep sigh she finished off the bourbon and turned when she thought she heard her bedroom door open and close. She began to laugh. It was just her imagination, or maybe wishful thinking that her pet returned to her.

"Get over it, Elena. He won't leave her and that brat. He thinks that she is good for him." She laughed thinking him the biggest fool ever. "He'll find out soon enough that she is his ruin. Just wait until his business suffers. He'll be trolling the clubs looking for a little brown-haired sub to beat on." She turned back to the mirror and started to brush her hair. "He needs it. He can't live without it. He'll be lost." She closed her eyes and replayed their final scene repeatedly in her mind. She could smell the leather of the whipping bench that he tethered her to. She could hear the sound of his whip as it fell upon her buttocks, legs, and back. Oh, it felt so good. It felt so wonderful to feel the power of his blows against her skin. And, then the sex. So hard. So primal. So fierce and wild. Her hands cupped her breasts and twisted her nipples as the memory made her core burn with desire. He was the only one who satisfied her desires. He made her want him. He made her fall in love with him, but she would never admit it. She would never give him that kind of power of her.

She stood up while tying her robe about her and went to the bed. She would sleep alone tonight which was fine with her. She was greedy enough to enjoy having the whole bed to herself. Of course, it wasn't the king-size bed she was used to, but a ugly wooden full size bed. Her sheets were no longer silk or Egyptian cotton but bought at Target on the sale shelf. She fluffed her pillow and settled into her bed. She turned off the bedside lamp and waited for sleep. She could hear her own heart beating and the clock ticking. She relaxed and was about to drift into slumber when she heard the familiar snap of a whip.

"Who's there?" She said into the darkness of her room. "Who's in here? I have a gun." Nothing. There was no one in her room and the sound of a whip being snapped was no longer heard. She laughed at herself. "It's just a dream."

For some reason she couldn't relax. She remained in her bed straining to hear every little sound in her room. The clock ticked away the minutes. She felt strange. Every pore of her body was on alert. Something wasn't correct in her room. She felt as if someone was watching her. She shook her head. _It's only paranoia. But…what's that? That sound. I know that sound. Someone is playing with a whip. I know exactly how a whip sounds as it is flying through the air. I know how it sounds when it hits the skin._

She was about to turn on the light when something bit into her skin. She screamed as the blows rained down on her body. She put her hands up to protect her face but the leather cut through her palms. She could feel blood dripping down her wrists. The whip bit into her skin, tearing at her silk robe. She couldn't see who was wielding the whip, but they were experienced. She tried to get away, but she was tangled in the sheets and was at the mercy of an unknown assailant. She cried out when the whip hit across the bridge of her nose. "Please…no…red. Red. RED. RED. RED."

Elena woke the next morning feeling as if she was run over by a Mack truck. She remembered that she suffered a beating last night by an unknown person. She pulled herself out of the bed and toed herself over to her vanity to inspect the damage. Her dark eyes grew wide in shock. There was not a mark on her body. No strap marks. No bruising. Nothing. Her robe was not even torn. She was confused. Her body ached but there was no evidence of an assault. "I am going crazy. It was only a dream. Just a dream." She said aloud. She began to laugh at her silliness until she turned to see a whip hanging on the doorknob. "Oh fuck!" Elena Lincoln dropped to her knees. "Oh, my god…no."

It was the same dream night after night. She was whipped until she yelled RED and every morning she awoke to find a whip on the doorknob and her body absent of abuse. She was nervous during the day. Every little sound made her whip around to see who was behind her. She couldn't eat. She drank. She drank heavily hoping to evade those strange dreams, but it never worked. Night after night she was assaulted.

She refused to sleep. She sat in her living room on the sofa. She downed a bunch of uppers along with her bourbon. She would not sleep. She would learn who was tormenting her. She sat in the darkness and waited. All she could hear was the refrigerator running and the ceiling fan rotating. She walked over to the windows and snapped open the curtains. The streets were empty and a lone streetlight flicked on and off. The town was dead. There was not a soul out on the streets. There were no cars. She felt that strange eerie feeling spreading over her body. She was being watched. She knew it. She ran around the room turning on all the lights. She stood in the middle of the room breathing hard. She could hear it. The whip! She could hear it slamming through the air. She ducked but nothing happened. "Where are you?" She screamed. "Where are you? I know someone is in here! I will find you and beat the shit out of you. Do you know who you are playing with?" She jumped onto her sofa. "I will kill you."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" A muffled voice said from above. "People are trying to sleep."

Elena's shoulders fell. She was going insane. She was chasing phantoms. There was no one in her apartment. There was no whip. There had been no whippings. "It's all in your head, girl. C'mon, get a grip." She climbed down from her sofa and sat on the faded cushion. She rocked herself. "Don't sleep. Don't sleep. I can't sleep. Just make it through until daybreak."

But, she did sleep. She woke up to find herself in bed. Her body striped with whipmarks and blood was pouring out of her wounds. "Oh, god…NO. NO! NO!" She sat up and found the whip at the end of her bed with blood dripping off the black onyx handle. She knew that whip. It was her favorite whip that she bought when she traveled to Spain to enjoy a week long BDSM event years ago. She reached for it and held it in her bloody hand. She dropped it between her legs and held her head as she screamed bloody murder.

Elena came to find herself still in her bed. There was no blood, no whip, and no marks on her body. She trembled as she pulled herself out of the sheets. Every bone ached. Her head felt so heavy and her heart was racing. It hurt. Everything hurt this morning, but she had to get to work. It was payday. She shook the cobwebs from her brain and padded into her bathroom.

The time of day that she feared was nearly upon her. She shivered in fear as the sun slipped beyond the horizon. Night. Dark. She could smell her own fear. She was afraid to stay in her apartment, but she was afraid to leave. She was half-tempted to call Linc and ask him to stay with her, but she couldn't stand to ask him for more help. His visits were now to three times a week, sometimes four. Those nights the beatings didn't start until he left. She blamed him at first and she even confronted him but he slapped her silly and told her that her botox shots had finally fried her brain. He had proof that on the night her madness started he wasn't even in Seattle. He was in Chicago on business.

"You should die." A deep raspy voice moaned. Elena felt her heart slam against her chest. "Die, bitch. Just die and free yourself from this pain….or do you still like it? Do you?" A male voice, she thought to herself. That was definitely a man's voice.

"Who are you?" She whispered. "Where are you?" She opened the closet door to find her clothes. "Stop it."

"Die, bitch."

The sound of the whip got louder and louder. She held her ears and twirled her body around. "No. No. No." She cried. "No more." She ran from her bedroom. She began to tear through her apartment upsetting furniture and screaming. She could still hear the whip. It was getting closer and closer. She could feel it striking through the air. "This isn't real. This isn't real." She closed her eyes just as she felt the whip bite into her back. She arched as it sliced through her nightgown and tore her skin. She felt warmness in the form of her own blood flowing down her back. She fell to the floor, writhing in pain as she felt blow after blow. She gulped air as she felt the familiar sensation of leather about her neck. She was being choked. Her long fingers struggled to find any play in the leather she thought was about her neck. Nothing but her own nails dug into her the tender skin of her neck. She scratched herself until her fingernails broke and bled. In her madness, she could still hear the whip. She could still feel it about her neck. She heard many voices all around her. All male voices. They were taunting her, teasing her. She couldn't see them, but she could hear them.

"I hope her black heart explodes."

"I hope they don't find her for days."

"I hope she burns in hell for eternity."

"Hell is too good for a sick bitch like her!"

Those voices. She knew them. Those were her boys. Those sweet, young, boys full of stamina and sexual urges. She trained them to pleasure her and only her. They were hers until they got too old or she got bored with them. Once the relationship was over, she forbids them to talk to her, to call her, to seek her out, or even think about her. She took pictures of them in various positions, wide open with their pricks hard and butt plugs shoved up their asses. She had photographs of her pets tethered to whipping posts, the cross, the whipping bench and of course her favorite position, spread eagle and chained to her bed. She loved to whip them with her riding crop when they were at her mercy.

"Please, don't…go away." She screamed as she pulled on her bleached blonde hair. "No more." She grabbed her chest as tightness squeezed the breath out of her lungs. Her heart raced wildly, and then suddenly stopped. Her mouth fell open and salvia spilled from her lips. She stared up at the ceiling as her lifeforce dwindled away. Her heart pulsed once more then exploded in her chest. She felt her blood come to a complete stop in her tissues. She felt every system of her body come to a stand-still. Her sight faded, but she could hear that whip one last time and laughter that gave her no comfort. Before the last essence of life left her body, she knew that her pets were laughing at her.

"Red." Elena Lincoln whispered to an empty apartment. She was alone in death.

The death of an old Dom barely made the Seattle papers. No one mourned her death. Lincoln went on with his life, as did the rest of Elena's victims. He moved to Chicago and remarried to a good woman that was not in the BDSM lifestyle. Christian Grey was happily married to the only woman that he ever loved and at last count, they had four children with another on the way. He now lived in the light with his Ana. The pets went on with their lives the best they could. Some committed suicide not able to live normal lives and others moved on. None mourned her death.

Elena Lincoln was buried by the county in a pauper's grave. Only a small stone with E. Lincoln proclaimed that she ever lived. Not even the cemetery workers paid any attention to the unvisited grave until on the tenth anniversary of her death when they found a bloodied whip draped over her tombstone.

The End.


End file.
